


Meltdown

by throwntotheair (eloquentelegance)



Series: Autistic Damian Wayne [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Autism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquentelegance/pseuds/throwntotheair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian tries. He really does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meltdown

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am self diagnosed. So, I don't even know if I should be writing this because you know, self diagnosis. And what if I'm wrong? So definitely some of this comes from personal experience and memories. And some of it comes from research. And mostly, I hope it's not this damning depiction of autism. 
> 
> But basically, sensory overload sucks. And meltdowns suck.

No one in the family smokes. There’s Jason but he’s hardly around to count. And Damian is usually better than this - was trained to be better than this. But it’s been a long and particularly exhausting night. They’ve had to intercept three weapon shipments, two armed robberies, and at least four assaults. He was tired. He was sleepy. He was sweaty. The sticky, slimy sensation of his uniform clinging to his skin did not help his endurance in the least. And now, Officer Harvey is smoking. Damian couldn’t stand it.

He pulls up his hood. It helps block out some of the lights and the noise. But the lingering smell of burning nicotine still reaches his nose.

“Stop that,” he snaps.

“Uh, sorry?” Officer Harvey blinks, taken aback.

“Stop. Smoking.” He continues through grit teeth.

“Oh! Sorry,” Officer Harvey says, more sincerely this time, and yet, he takes another long drag. “But listen. They’re almost done here, okay? Just wait a couple more minutes.”

“No. Stop. Now.”

“Geez, kid. You know, I always figured Batman trained you Robins to be patient.” Harvey blows out a lungful of smoke.

Damian stabs him.

The ride back home is tense and silent. His father grips the steering wheel with an implacable sort of force. Strained anger is obvious in the corners of his mouth. Damian feels like a fist, all curled up and clenched tight, waiting for impact.

They reach the cave. His father exits the batmobile with a loud bang. It frays Damian’s already worn nerves. His skin feels stretched, taut, like he’s a string to be plucked, to be strummed, just waiting to make some noise.

“You understand what you did tonight was wrong,” his father tells him. But he’s not even looking at him. He’s facing the computers and all Damian can see is the broad width of his back.

Damian pulls his hood down farther, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to breath. He wants his iPod, wants to shut out all outside noises, wants to sit somewhere empty and still and isolated. He forces himself to speak.

“I know.”

“You will apologize to Officer Harvey tomorrow.”

“I won’t, I’m not,” Damian says through clenched teeth, his hands reaching up to cover his ears. This is shameful behavior, a clear and obvious show of weakness. Mother would not be pleased. But Mother is not here. “He wouldn't stop smoking. He didn't listen.”

“You know better,” his father sighs. And he’s still not looking at him. “I thought by now we’ve worked through your violent tendencies.”

“I’m trying!” Damian screams then. Because he is! He used his words. He wanted to be good. He is trying. And why couldn’t Father see? But all that was lost in his hurt and his rage. His pent up tension and anxiety poured out in a wordless screech.

Damian grabbed the nearest thing in reach - a socket wrench - and started smashing the batmobile with it. His father is quick to react then. The socket wrench is taken from his hold and he is bodily heaved into the air. Without a weapon, he kicks and screams, struggling out of his father’s grip. If Mother was here, he would’ve been sedated long ago. But this is Father. He doesn’t know yet about the times when he is bad, when he is deficient, when he is broken. His father isn’t prepared.

Blinded by his fury and frustration, Damian grows increasingly violent and chaotic. The viciousness of his movements take his father by surprise and he quickly frees himself. His feet land on the ground, exhaustion nipping at his heels with shame quick to follow. Damian only wants to do is run. Run and hide.

He goes for the first small, dark corner he can find - under the computer desk - and takes cover. Curling into a tight ball, he still feels himself shaking, anger and humiliation whirling within him in a wicked dance.

Faintly, he can hear voices. He recognizes Cassandra asking “… tonight?” and “… okay?” Then footsteps approach. He tenses, arms wrap around his head as he rests his brow on his knees. But no one comes. No one comes to drag him from his hiding place, to force him to drink bitter medicine, to hit him for his unseemly display. He only hears the lights turning off one by one until the cave is plunged into darkness. There’s careful movement and he is aware of someone taking a seat on the floor, a respectable distance from him. It’s Cassandra, he realizes belatedly. His father would never be so calm, especially considering the circumstances.

She sits there for awhile, her breathing even, her limbs relaxed. Damian swallows, debating on approaching or staying away. But the steady presence is too inviting and cautiously, grudgingly, he pulls himself closer. After a moment of hesitation, he lays his head on her shoulder. Slim fingers slowly start to run through his hair and he feels the tension seeping out of him.

It’s quiet. Cassandra has always been happy to sit in silence. Damian has never loved her more for it than he does now. He breathes in deep.

“I tried,” he croaks out, his voice hoarse from the earlier screaming.

“I know,” Cassandra replies simply.

And Damian is inclined to believe her. Safe in her understanding and her warm touch, he allows himself to do what Mother would never have tolerated. But Mother is not here, he reminds himself again. Mother is not here. Cassandra is. And she knows. With that final thought, Damian allows himself to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> Side note about Talia: With her emphasis on strength and perfection for Damian, she definitely strikes me as a mom who wouldn't let her child stim. The whole "quiet hands". And like any outward expression of his autism would be very severely discouraged. She would not allow him to go nonverbal. And she does this meaning well. She does love her son. She's not doing this with the intent to hurt him only make him stronger. 
> 
> But whatever her intentions, however much she loves Damian, it is a cruel thing to do to a child. And yes, it is in fact abusive.


End file.
